


Before I Sleep

by viciousmollymaukery



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Declarations Of Love, Fantasy Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Pining, Temporary Character Death, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, background Beaujester as a treat, self indulgent and sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24469312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viciousmollymaukery/pseuds/viciousmollymaukery
Summary: “Do drow ever sleep at all?”“We can. It’s unusual, and we don’t strictly need to, but it’s not impossible.”“Have you ever tried?”(or, the four times Caleb thinks Essek is asleep, and the one time he actually is)
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 24
Kudos: 390





	Before I Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> So during the little break I took for my series (if you follow that) I started writing this, and I'm editing a ton of stuff right now so. Here you go. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time Caleb almost thinks Essek is asleep, he’s reminded of the differences between the sleeping habits of drow and humans.

They’re in Zadash, hiding out with the Cobalt Soul there and trying to piece together a way to take down the Assembly and start actually cutting out some of the cancer that has been spreading throughout the Empire and beyond. Caleb is grateful for a chance to peruse the library again, considering all he did to gain access to it before, and ended up spending the majority of the day just reading old transcripts and reports written by previous Assembly members. Each one is intriguing in its own way; he gets a sense of each person who wrote them, and the archives here are so extensive he feels like he’s met a hundred different people by the time evening rolls around.

With Frumpkin trotting alongside him, and more than the usual number of books tucked close to his chest, he reluctantly retires back to the large chamber the Soul has granted to them—well, really to _Expositor Beauregard Lionett_ —for the duration of their stay, though he’s hoping that their endeavors will be fruitful enough to grant them a more accommodating arrangement for their group of seven.

No, it’s eight this time. By what was perhaps some small miracle, Essek had come with them and offered to share his experiences with the Assembly with the Expositors here. Beauregard had been a bit too eager for an opportunity to use what she was calling her ‘truth punches’, but the Nein had been able to quell her desires and settled for Jester’s spell instead for the duration of the interrogation-slash-testimony that had followed.

There was more to the story to be had, more specifics to be ironed out, more details to come to light, but Jester could only cast the spell so many times even with Caduceus occasionally stepping in for her, and Essek had seemed a bit overwhelmed with all of the attention after the first couple of hours, so they’d relented for the time being. Now, with all of them retiring for the evening in the large room with cups of tea and plates of food, courtesy of their large pink friend, they could have a chance to unwind and relax for the first time in what felt like days.

“We should throw a party, guys,” Jester is saying around a bite of stew-soaked bread as Caleb walks in and sits down in one of the chairs with Frumpkin in his lap. “Like, a super fun taking-down-the-icky-Assembly-people party.”

“Yeah, with cupcakes and streamers and all sorts of things,” Veth says excitedly. “And booze!”

"Yes, lots of booze," Yasha affirms quietly.

“Maybe once we’ve, you know, _actually_ taken down the Assembly and our lives aren’t in mortal danger for at least a few moments, we can do that,” Fjord says.

“Yeah, I think we’re all a bit beat tonight,” Caduceus adds, pushing a bowl into Caleb’s hands before settling onto one of the only couches large enough to hold him.

Jester crosses her arms and flicks her tail, the tip almost smacking Beauregard in the nose. Caleb knows by now that such an incident would have send the monk into a blushing, stuttering mess. “Okay, fine, but it has to be a _super_ big party then, because we’re waiting,” she relents. Then she frowns and turns to Essek. “Essek, do you want to have a party with us? I promise we won’t make you go in the hot tub this time if you don’t want to.”

Essek, who had been sitting in one of the corners a bit away from them all, lifts his head from where he’d been slowly massaging his temple. “Ah… sure, if you all would have me, I would be happy to come.”

Caleb doubts that Essek ‘I hate parties’ Thelyss would, strictly speaking, enjoy such a situation, but he’s not one to judge or make his decisions for him, so he doesn’t call him on it. It’s heartwarming, to see him at least trying to step out of his shell; even if it might not go over perfectly, the effort is there and that doesn’t mean nothing, at least not to Caleb.

“Well, we’d be happy to have you,” is what he says instead, and means it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jester exclaims eagerly. “We can make pastries, and I can give you a tattoo, and—ooh, ooh, ooh, maybe I can invite my Mama to the Xhorhaus and see if she’ll perform a song for everyone!”

Beauregard coughs pointedly. “Maybe, uh, save all the planning for tomorrow, Jes,” she says with a stretch of her arms over her head. “We should probably go to bed. As much as I totally definitely one-hundred percent trust the security of this place and think there’s absolutely no way that the Assembly has spies here that are already reporting back to them about what they’re doing, I’m thinking maybe we all crash in here in the dome for the night. Caleb?”

Caleb nods. “Ja, I can do that.” He hadn’t needed to cast many spells today beyond using the circle to bring them all there, so it was easy enough to pull the bead from his component pouch and set up the familiar, shimmering dome around them all. He snaps his fingers and Frumpkin appears on top of it with a meow, setting his legs under him in a loaf-shape.

“I can take first watch,” Beauregard offers, “since I’m, like, technically the host and all and that’s what seems polite.”

“You should offer us drinks as well,” Fjord yawns, covering his mouth with his fist and settling back into his chair. “Appetizers, someone to take our coats, all of that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the Soul will be stoked about how I choose to spend their money,” Beauregard retorts with an eye roll. “Anyone wanna join me?”

“I’m pooped,” Jester says, unceremoniously flopping down on the bed with a huff. She curls up on one side and wraps her tail around her. “I need to recover my spells too.”

“I’m kinda in the same situation,” Caduceus says.

“I totally did _not_ use all my spells on trying to see if I could climb the entirety of the building here, but I think I am a bit tapped as well,” Fjord adds, pulling one of the blankets over himself.

“And I just don’t want to,” Veth says, already swaddled on the carpet with a pillow under her head and her crossbow in her hand.

To Caleb’s surprise, Essek clears his throat and half-raises a hand. “If you would prefer, I do not require the same amount of sleep as all of you, so I could theoretically watch for most of the night. If that’s something you’re comfortable with, of course.”

Jester sits up, eyes widening. “Wait, you don’t need to sleep _at all?”_

“Er… not exactly. When I do, I am more or less aware of my surroundings, and I do not need to do so for as long as most people.”

“So if I were to like, draw something on your face or put things in your hair, you would totally know?”

Essek blinks. “Yes, I would,” he says carefully.

Jester clicks her tongue and mutters to herself, abandoning the conversation and settling back down in Beauregard’s bed, while the monk in question glares at Essek, staring him down. Doubtless, she was weighing her mistrust against her desire for a good night’s rest, but Caleb knew which one would probably win out in the end.

“How about you just join me? At least for like, a few hours? You ‘sleep’ or whatever and then watch us?,” she suggests in the end.

Essek shrugs. “That’s acceptable.”

With that, candles are blown out and fires are extinguished, and Caleb lets his four softly glowing lights drift around the room at least until he goes to sleep. Frumpkin’s eyes follow them around and he tries to bat at them occasionally through the top of the dome, but other than his subsequent distressed chirping there is very little sound in the room. Veth’s snoring occasionally catches in her throat and she has to roll over, and Caduceus’s breathing is a constant rumble just below the threshold of Caleb’s hearing. At least it’s not Beauregard’s loud snoring that shakes the walls of the Xhorhaus, he thinks.

Still tossing and turning and mulling over day’s events and what tomorrow will bring, Caleb rolls over onto his side and carefully studies Essek from across the room for a few moments. He’s still sitting in the chair, legs crossed and hands folded carefully in his lap, eyes closed. He wasn’t quite _sleeping_ as Caleb would have defined it—his posture was too rigid, too poised even in what was supposed to be relaxation, to really pass for it, but the general air is similar enough that he’s fooled for a few moments. Caleb knows, logically, of the disparities in their resting requirements, but given where he’d grown up—

Well. Suffice to say he’d had few opportunities to see such a phenomenon in person. It is more than a bit fascinating to see it now, and he has to admit to himself that such fascinations are not strictly intellectual. The thought makes him turn his head away, cheeks reddening as he stares up at the beamed ceiling through the dome. He needs to focus on their planning and on calming his own mind, not the distracting conflicting _feelings_ that were currently twisting through his stomach, because focusing on them and giving words to them would mean admitting that they were there at all, and that was when it would all start to unravel, just as it always did with him and always would. So, with a slight huff, he turns over on his other side and stares at the back of the couch, and slowly drifts off into a dreamless sea.

* * *

  
  


The second time Caleb almost thinks Essek is asleep, it’s under far more dire circumstances than simply keeping watch.

They’d fallen back to Rosohna just two days ago, the betrayal from the Assembly’s spies within the Cobalt Soul an urgent threat and painting a large target on their backs. Caleb had known, of course, that it was a possibility, but he still curses himself for not being better prepared for it to pan out. Dairon and the handful of Expositors they knew they could trust were supposed to get in touch with Beauregard at some point to smuggle them up to Rexxentrum, but right now they had several Scourgers hot on their trail and preparing for a second, more successful strike against them.

“This just might be, and I don’t say this lightly, the _stupidest_ plan we have _ever_ had,” Fjord says as they huddle around their war room in the Xhorhaus, safely under the dome.

“I think it’s dope,” Beauregard says, crossing her arms.

“You do remember what happened the last time we intentionally provoked a trap, right? We lost Yasha for like, almost forever,” Veth says. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—” she clears her throat, looking almost a little nauseous— “but I… I agree with Fjord.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s gonna go great,” Jester protests as Fjord’s jaw drops. “We’re super duper powerful and we’re not even _in_ the Empire anymore and this way we can like, fucking kill them or something.”

Beauregard nods along. “Yeah, I’d rather we set a trap for them than have us get jumped in the middle of the night with our pants down.”

Jester wiggles her eyebrows, but Caleb clears his throat before she can speak to save Beauregard from devolving into a mess at whatever she’s about to say. “As much as I agree with that point,” he interrupts, “this is still very risky. The Scourgers are incredibly dangerous and it would be foolish of us to underestimate that. I don’t doubt that they have more tricks up their sleeve, so to speak, than what we’ve seen from them.”

“I know,” Beauregard says, her usually harsh voice tinged with what sounds like an awkward attempt at comfort. “This situation kinda sucks, but we do have to deal with it. I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t think we could take them.” She turns over to Essek. “Are you cool with this? With, ya know, the part where we use you as bait to lure a bunch of elite wizard killers to our doorstep and all?”

Essek laughs a bit, nervously, and sighs. “Truthfully, I agree largely with what you are saying. Better we ensnare them first than have ourselves at their mercy.”

High risk, high reward. Of course that would be his rationale. Caleb had weighed the options too, and this was probably one of the better paths to take, but it could lead to other paths he hadn’t walked in a long time and had no desire to revisit.

“Tonight then?” Beauregard asks. “They’re probably already skulking about the city somewhere. Honestly I wouldn’t be all that surprised if they jumped us by the end of this sentence.”

Veth yelps and whips her crossbow around, eyes darting, but apparently sees nothing.

Essek nods. “Tonight is fine. I’m sure the Bright Queen will hear of my return soon enough and begin to ask questions, so the sooner we can have this done with, the better.”

Beauregard sighs through her nose, staring down at the table. “Alright. Well, everyone in position I guess.”

They scatter for a time. Their plan is to temporarily abandon the Xhorhaus and hide out in the dome on the far corner of Essek’s yard while he goes about his evening at home. Hopefully, once the Scourgers see that the Nein aren’t home, they’ll settle for going after him and everyone can spring into action.

Caleb takes the time to turn Frumpkin into a small spider and sends him scurrying inside to hide on one of the walls. They have a decent angle on Essek’s house through here, but he’s already less than eager at the prospect of leaving him on his own in there, so he slips into Frumpkin’s senses as soon as he’s situated in a small corner of Essek’s living room, and watches carefully.

Essek sits at one of his tables, quietly reading over some papers and occasionally making notes in their margins. It’s strangely endearing, and Caleb isn’t sure how much time has passed when he suddenly pauses.

“Nothing yet, Jester,” he mutters, in response to an apparent message, “I will let you know if I see anything unusual. Otherwise, I will proceed as I usually would each evening.”

Essek continues his work for another two hours and seven minutes before sitting back, putting his pen down and stretching his arms over his head with a few painful sounding snaps. Then, he puts the papers away and carefully floats up his stairs. Caleb has Frumpkin delicately skitter along the walls, but spiders are much slower than pretty, floating wizards and he falls behind, the loss of visual more of a strain on his nerves than anything else so far that day.

When Spider-Frumpkin finally catches up a few minutes later, Essek is already sitting in his bed with a book that would qualify as ‘light reading’ for him open on his lap, the candle on the nightstand flickering softly. Frumpkin settles into the corner above the door frame, where Caleb can see a good angle on the windows on the opposite side of the room. He knows the people that are hunting them and their strategies extremely intimately, and exactly what to expect from them as such.

Twenty-three minutes later, Essek sets the book aside and blows out the candle. Thankfully, Spider-Frumpkin can see just fine even in the darkness that now covers the room, and watches as Essek carefully lays down with one more cursory glance around the area. It must be a tense thing, Caleb can imagine, to have to act like everything is normal when you’re expecting to be attacked at any moment. He knows that feeling well.

Essek lays down and Caleb allows himself one brief, selfish moment to just watch him. His eyes are closed, but on closer inspection his breathing is too… controlled to truly pass for sleeping. Every muscle in his body is tense, clearly ready to spring into action at the slightest movement. Caleb’s own fingers twitch back in his own body, fighting the automatic urge to fix a stray strand of white hair that’s fallen across his face or to pull the covers up over his shoulders because it’s bitterly cold in Rosohna this time of year and Essek should _know_ he’ll freeze like that. He’s half tempted to call this whole thing off and find a different angle to deal with the Scourgers.

But it’s too late for that, because he can see a flash of movement at one of the windows and his hand waves wildly, connecting with what must have been Beauregard’s shoulder to hurry them all into action. Someone grabs his hand and he runs, his senses still inside Frumpkin as the dewy grass pounds under his feet. He sees a hand carefully cast a spell and the window silently creaks open, and he feels the air change as the Mighty Nein enter the house and there’s carpet beneath his boots, and he hears a slight _huff_ as the second Scourger hoists themselves inside, and he hears a familiar clicking sound and a crossbow bolt slams into their thigh and they _scream—_

And he sees his own form being pulled through the door, and he bamfs back into his own body, and by now the Mighty Nein and their newest friend have the two infiltrators surrounded, with the third one hanging halfway out the window by now.

“ _Stand down,”_ Caleb orders in Zemnian, letting flames lick over his hands for flare as he raises them. “I promise you, you _won’t_ win this. Surrender, and we _will_ let you live. I swear it.”

The three Scourgers pause, considering him for a moment. Caleb isn’t sure if he’s more relieved or disappointed that he recognizes none of them; they’re all younger than he is, and his face twists at the realization that more children have already been thrown on the pyre. He takes a cautious step forward. He _has_ to believe that he can reason with them.

“Please. _Please_. It’s over. It is _over_. I know you know who I am, so please believe me when I say this. _He_ is nowhere near here, and you can be safe, and we can figure this out, but only if you _stand down.”_

None of them move. Caleb watches their eyes dart around the room, at the Nein, at one another, and sees the resignation and determination slide over their features a split second too late.

The battle is a blur—spells cast, weapons drawn, blood spilled—but at the end of it, three more children are put out of their misery and a pyre is doused, though Caleb is not sure he will not rest easy with this outcome.

* * *

The third time Caleb almost thinks Essek is asleep, it’s a challenge to even get him there at all.

They’ve moved to Rexxentrum now, having traveled discretely made their way largely on foot from Rosohna, which had been a feat in and of itself. Here they’ll have support for the upcoming battle, and can quietly gather additional allies and make preparations. Caleb has a feeling that the current bustling, chaotic atmosphere that has overtaken the interior of the whole place is a far cry from the usual studious, intense one that he sees so often reflected in Beauregard and the few other members he’s met. It’s clear that something is being prepared for, a battle the likes of which could tear half of Wildemount apart if it goes poorly. But, if it goes well, they just might liberate it.

Still, the pressure is getting to Caleb quite a bit, and he’s taken to pacing back and forth through the library to keep himself calm. The steady creaks of the wood under his feet and the feeling of Frumpkin’s fur and he pulls his hands through it and the expansion of his own lungs as he forces them to breathe are all enough to keep him grounded in reality for now. Caleb sincerely prays to any divine force that might be listening that it lasts.

He’s looking for another section of library floor to pace a hole through when he spots Essek, sitting at one of the tables with his books spread out in front of him, the nearly burned out candle at his elbow threatening to spill a line of wax over everything. Caleb tells himself that it’s the prospect of Essek’s work being ruined that compels him to walk over, placing Frumpkin in his lap as he carefully sits on the other side of the makeshift workspace.

Essek looks up with a slight start, blinking in what was not unpleasant surprise upon seeing Caleb before him. “Oh,” he sighs, relaxing slightly. “Apologies, I’ve been a bit absorbed here.”

Caleb smiles. “I can see that,” he says as Frumpkin, ever the traitor to his owner’s affections, hops out of his lap and nimbly steps over the papers and inkwells towards Essek, pushing his head under Essek’s hand and purring happily at the scratches he receives in return.

His smile wavers a fraction. This close ~~(it’s not close enough)~~ , Essek looks, frankly, exhausted. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced than normal, which is saying something, and there’s a tightness to his jaw that isn’t usually there. His grip around the quill in his other hand is a bit awkward, and he keeps adjusting it like he can’t find a proper angle as he continues writing.

Caleb shouldn’t say anything. It would be rude. It would overstep a boundary. It would cross the line he couldn’t admit to himself that he’d been toeing for months now. It was none of his fucking business and Essek would tell him that because it was true and it would break his heart.

“Is everything okay?” Caleb asks softly, conscious of the few members of the Cobalt Soul that are lurking at the edge of his vision, and of the ones that are certainly lurking beyond that edge if his experiences with Beauregard are any example.

Essek’s eyes dart up to meet his for a split second, then return to Frumpkin. He pauses, then exhales slowly in what Caleb recognizes all too well as defeat. “Not… entirely, as much as it pains me to admit,” he whispers, then laughs a bit like he’s enjoying a joke with himself.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Caleb breathes, crossing his arms on the surface in front of him, helpless to any urge to close the space between them a bit more, not quite looking Essek in the eyes. “I, um… I-I do not mean to press where it is unwelcome, but you… seem a bit worn.” It’s his turn to pause. “Are things not going well with your, ah, _testimony_ for the people here?” Beauregard had told him, a bit judgmentally, that today’s interview had been challenging and argumentative, things not adding up and pieces not fitting together as they should.

“No,” Essek murmurs, still petting Frumpkin in long strokes up his back, which the cat clearly appreciates very much. “No, it’s not that. Not exactly, anyway.” He’s quiet for another moment, but Caleb can tell it’s the kind of quiet that comes from a careful consideration of what to say next. Essek bites his bottom lip as he thinks, and Caleb tries not to stare, he truly does, but he’s never realized before that drow have slight fangs and he wonders what they’d feel like under the tip of his tongue or against the hollow of his throat or—

Finally, Essek sighs and lifts his head, still not meeting Caleb’s eyes, which is perhaps a small mercy at this exact moment given how red his face is right now. “My… overall existence, so to speak, is occasionally punctuated by periods where living in general is much more… painful, than it is for most people,” he says slowly, still petting Frumpkin. “It’s the more scandalous reason I learned to float as a child, it’s why sitting to talk with the Expositors for even a few hours was so difficult today, it’s why I’m staring at these spells now and still cannot think clearly about which I should prepare for the upcoming week and what components I need to buy, it’s why I haven’t been able to rest decently for what’s sure to be two nights now.”

Caleb nods slowly as he finishes speaking, gauging his own response. “I understand, I think. I… Is there anything I can do to help? Either, um, right now or in the future? We have Caduceus and Jester with us, after all.”

In the future. We have. With us. When had he started thinking those phrases so regularly that they would slip freely from his lips? Why didn’t he feel any regret or shame at having said them? What would happen if Essek said them back?

“Not particularly,” Essek says with a soft smile, “though I do appreciate the gesture. I can typically manage on my own. Usually it’s… in the background, if that makes sense. Like sounds that are easily tuned out. But, when it does rear its head, it’s with a vengeance.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs before he can stop himself. Displays of empathy are far from his strong suit, and he’s not sure how useful or welcome the expression is in this circumstance. “That doesn’t sound especially pleasant.”

Essek shrugs, then winces slightly at the movement. “No, but it is what it is, unfortunate as it may be.” He goes silent for a few seconds. “I would… if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if the rest of your friends did not know about this just yet.”

“Of course,” Caleb says. “You are still entitled to your privacy.” He’s not sure the rest of them would agree, but they’re not here to debate and impose their will, so it’s no matter.

“Thank you. I will tell them, in due time, but I can imagine it will be a discussion and it hardly seems like a good place for one of those when we’re preparing for battle.”

“You’re probably right,” Caleb says. He realizes then that he’s moved seats at some point and they’re right next to each other. He can see the small blotches of ink on Essek’s fingers and a horribly tempting one smeared along his jaw. A slight leaning in, that’s all it would take, and the taste of that deliciously expensive substance could coat his mouth and he could maybe leave a marking of his own on the skin there, if only he would let himself.

But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not right now, with all they were facing, with all they were sure to face. After that… maybe. _Maybe_ he could deserve it, or at least start to. But not before then.

“You should, ah, try to get some rest,” Caleb says, mostly to pull himself back to reality and away from his fantasy that was starting to spiral dangerously downward. “I know you don’t sleep the same way we do, and I certainly won’t claim to better understand your circumstances than you do, but it might be helpful.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but my joints seem to disagree,” Essek sighs. “It would just be a waste of time.”

“It’s not a waste to try to take care of yourself,” Caleb argues gently.

“I still have work to do.”

“Do you really think your work won’t suffer if you’re exhausted?” Caleb understands where a bit of this is coming from, the desire to push oneself to the brink, ignoring physical and mental strain, all for the desire to reach a goal, to feel useful. Which means he knows how to curb it.

Essek’s eyes narrow at him, and he’s silent for a few moments. “I feel like you’re cheating somehow.”

“A bit, maybe. Or I’m just right.” Caleb smiles at him, trying to appear perfectly innocent.

Essek breathes out through his nose, ducking to hide his own smile. “Very well,” he mutters, collecting his papers and tucking them back inside his spellbook. “Let’s go join the others.”

They stagger back to the Nein’s Rexxentrum quarters, a mirror image to the ones they’d stayed in during their eventually disastrous visit to Zadash. Almost everyone else was either asleep or preparing to go to sleep, save for Fjord and Beauregard, who were probably still sparring somewhere within the institution.

Essek sits carefully by the fire and drapes one of the many blankets over his legs. Caleb snaps his fingers and Frumpkin jumps up on the chair’s arm, carefully stepping down into Essek’s lap before curling in a ball and purring as before. Caleb sprawls across one of the couches with Veth curled up in the crook of his knee, and again studies Essek as he drifts off.

He seems a bit more at ease than the previous times, but his jaw is still clenched and his fingers are curled tightly inward towards his palms. Later his ears twitch a bit at the sound of Jester practically throwing herself onto one of the couches alongside Beauregard, but he’s immobile other than that.

Caleb again resists the urge to reach his hand out and close that too-long gap, as well as the urge to bamf into Frumpkin for a moment or two for some semblance of physical contact. Instead, he makes a mental note to get enough spell components for two tomorrow, and finally goes to sleep.

* * *

  
  


The fourth time Caleb almost thinks Essek is asleep, the graviturgist is dead in his arms.

His ears are still ringing and the thin haze of smoke is still in the air, but the battle is over and he staggers forward and drops to his knees, his trembling hands reaching for where Essek lays in a crumpled pile by one of the pillars in this accursed stone chamber. Caleb carefully rolls him over, cloak twisting around him, and his heart drops so far he wonders, distantly, if it now lies somewhere in the Underdark, or in the pits of the Hells where he’s surely damned to end up anyway.

Essek’s eyes are closed. His chest is still. The left side of his head is caked with blood from when he’d fallen, and thin lines of red run from his ear and nose. His jaw is slightly open, and more crimson stains his teeth. Still, without the usual calculating glare or carefully drawn smile, or the more genuine expressions of affection that Caleb has seen slowly slip through that cold exterior over the months, he would almost look peaceful if he weren’t so obviously, definitively, dead.

Caleb allows himself to sob once, then lifts his head to start screaming for Jester or Caduceus or whichever of their clerics holds the diamonds that now hold more value to him than any book or scroll in all of Exandria, because a single spell from the twisted pathetic excuse for a human who is now little more than a poetically charred heap at the other end of the hall _cannot_ be how Essek’s story ends. Caleb won’t allow it, won’t allow _him_ to take one more person he loves away from him, not when he’s finally supposed to be able to stop it from happening to anyone else.

Jester is still frantically pumping healing into Beauregard in wake of her own return from beyond the veil, shouting her own laments and crying her own tears, but Caduceus quickly strides across the flagstone floor with one pouch in hand. The sight is strangely blurry, but Caleb blinks away the tears that have started spilling over as Caduceus removes the diamonds and lets the pouch fall, discarded, to the ground.

“Mister Caleb,” Caduceus rumbles grimly, arranging the gems in his hand, “there’s still time to do this quickly, but for your own sake you might want to step back a bit.”

Caleb isn’t sure he can speak, so he quickly shakes his head instead, but loosens his grip a fraction so the drow is no longer pressed quite as tightly to him, even though his instincts scream to do the exact opposite because _how_ could Essek already be so _cold?_ Unless his presence poses a threat to the spell succeeding, he’s not sure he’s physically capable of leaving.

“Alright,” Caduceus sighs in surrender, resting the diamonds over Essek’s bloody form, “well, then, why don’t we get our friend back now?”

A warm green glow washes over the room, the energy different from Jester’s earlier bringing back of Beauregard. Caleb’s heart is pounding so hard it hurts, and each second seems to stretch out into an agonizing sort of eternity. He’s supposed to be good at this, at shutting his emotions out during a crisis, but this day has been completely impossible and if this doesn’t work he thinks he might just snap _agai_ _n_ because he’s not sure if he can take any more of it.

Then Essek coughs, and it’s perhaps the most beautiful sound Caleb has ever heard. He sobs again at the wave of relief that crashes down over him and pulls Essek close to his chest until he’s no longer feeling just his own heartbeat, face buried in his neck. Essek’s arms carefully wrap under his shoulders, one hand rubbing circles into his back. It strikes Caleb that the situation feels a bit backwards, that _he’s_ the one receiving comfort from someone who just died in front of him, but gods it’s what he needs right now after everything he’s just endured.

After fifty-two seconds, Caleb pulls back a bit with one last sniff, trying to steady his breathing. He wipes his tears on the back of his sleeve with one hand before cupping Essek’s face just a few inches from his own. “Hi there,” he laughs softly, running one thumb over his cheekbone.

“Hi,” Essek smiles, his voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

Caleb laughs harder at that, because _he_ wasn’t the one who had been dead just sixty-five seconds ago. _“I’m_ just fine,” he says as he wipes Essek’s hair to get some of the blood out of it. He’s no more beat than the rest of them are, by some miracle. “What about you?”

Essek blinks, looking down at himself. “I, um… I think I might have broken my leg when I fell, but everything hurts so I am not entirely sure.”

Slightly alarmed, Caleb lifts his head. Caduceus had gone to heal Fjord and Yasha a bit more, but it’s quick work to summon him back over. The adrenaline is leaving him and he feels exhausted, but there’s still a lot to be done before this can be truly finished. This was but one battle in a much larger war. The quicker they could all get up and moving, the better.

Caduceus kneels back next to them, and Caleb carefully shifts so they’re both sitting up. Essek hisses in pain at the motion, but it’s a necessary step if they’re going to get out of here intact. Still, Caleb continues stroking his hair, murmuring softly in Zemnian all the while.

“Well,” Caduceus says slowly, carefully lifting Essek’s left leg, which is bent at the knee in a way that even Caleb can tell that legs aren’t supposed to bend, “good news is, it’s just dislocated. Bad news is, this is gonna hurt.”

Caduceus quickly twists his arms and there’s a sharp _pop_ as the joint slides back into place. Essek’s entire body spasms and he tries to pull away, but Caduceus is already pumping a healing spell into him before he can.

“OW,” he shouts, and Caleb grabs his hand, not minding the nails that dig into his skin as Essek squeezes it tightly. The spell ends, and Caduceus pulls back, dusting his own hands off.

“There you go, you’re gonna be just fine. Just maybe float for few days instead of walking, okay? And I’ll make everyone some tea later, that should help some.”

Essek nods, face pale, and slumps back against Caleb. “Thank you,” he breathes, sounding as tired as Caleb felt.

“Guys,” Beauregard calls out from where she’s bracing herself against another pillar, trying to stand despite Jester’s protests, “we gotta get the fuck out of here. The other Assembly members will put this together soon enough.”

“I can get us away,” Caleb says. “Dairon confirmed that the spies in Zadash were all captured?”

Beauregard nods, her limp, ichor-streaked hair forming a strange halo around her face. “Yeah, they said that’s been dealt with by, like, the top Expositor person. And Expositors don’t take kindly to having spies right under their nose, so. Probably won’t see any of them alive again.”

“Then, to Zadash!” Veth declares, raising her crossbow in the air.

They all echo cries of ‘To Zadash!’ with varying levels of coherence and enthusiasm. Essek floats upright and Caleb stands, quickly scrawling a circle on the floor to take them all away from here. He spares one more glance towards the body of the man who had ruined his life before the spell finishes and they all appear in the familiar room. They’re quickly escorted inside and given a chance to rest, in much larger quarters than the last times they’ve stayed at one of these places.

Caduceus is good on his word and immediately starts making tea for everyone, muttering a slow-acting healing spell under his breath as he does. The cuts and bruises Caleb has been sporting close up a bit more as they all settle in. It’s late enough in the day by now that none of them have any ideas of going anywhere else, and are content to make plans for the next Assembly members.

“The Martinet seems more dangerous to me, but I hate that we know so little about de Rogna. She might be slippery enough to hide away somewhere until this all blows over,” Beauregard is saying from the couch she’s in with Jester draped over her lap, somewhere between a shield and a blanket.

“My few interactions with her have yielded a, uh… similar impression,” Essek says carefully, sipping a cup of tea that Caduceus had practically pushed into his hands. “But as the Archmage of Antiquities, she’s most likely to have the Beacon in her possession.”

Beauregard swore, crossing something out in her notebook and turning to a fresh page. “Well, I think if we can get access to the Candles soon, that’ll probably be our best bet for where to go next. There might not be much point in speculating a ton before then.”

“Yeah, and we’re all like, super tired, and also you _died_ today and should chill a little,” Jester says from her lap, tail swishing anxiously over the wooden floor at Beauregard’s feet.

“Yes, let’s all just chill for a little,” Fjord adds, his voice muffled from laying face down on one of the carpets next to Yasha, who was in a similar prone position. “Can we please just talk about the next way we’ll be endangering our lives in the morning?”

Everyone agrees, and Caleb begins carefully setting up the dome, considering it a small miracle that he has enough spells left after that battle. With their current struggle against the Cerberus Assembly and in light of already almost being killed by Scourgers, this is probably going to be their sleeping arrangement until further notice. It's nostalgic in a way, for them all to be together like this again as they had when they were just a group of assholes trying to survive. Not that they were no longer that group of assholes, but they've all come a long way.

And they still have a long way to go, that much is for sure. But still, maybe this world would be better than they found it once they were gone after all.

* * *

  
  


The fifth time, Essek is actually asleep, but Caleb is the one who wakes him up.

They’re in Nicodranas now, because after months of working nonstop to topple one of the most insidious institutions in all of recorded history they’ve earned a fucking _break_ , and a boat trip up and down the Menagerie Coast is just the thing the Mighty Nein’s nerves need right now, even if they do have a sea snake coming after them. But they can deal with that too, when it becomes an issue. For now, they want to relax, but Jester is already planning to turn the Lavish Chateau into the venue for the party she was promised at the end of this, and none of them have the strength to resist her charm.

“Do drow ever sleep at all?” Caleb had asked on a whim the night before, preparing himself to settle down for the evening.

Essek had looked up from the book he was reading, sitting by the fireplace with Frumpkin in his lap despite the warmth of the city. “We can. It’s unusual, and we don’t strictly need to, but it’s not impossible.”

“Have you ever tried?”

Which is the short story of how Caleb wakes up the next morning to a stubborn sliver of sunlight peaking through the heavy curtains to shine on his eyes, Frumpkin pawing gently at his face and nipping at his nose, and the sound of faint snoring next to him. Realizing what the source of the sound must be, he carefully turns over onto his side, propping his head up with one hand and smiling down at what he considers his latest victory.

Essek is actually asleep, curled on his side with one arm still around Caleb’s waist, their legs a tangled mess beneath the blankets. His skin is freckled now from traveling with all of them for so long, each one a tiny dusting of ebony over his features. Eyes closed, breathing even, hair askew; it’s a strangely vulnerable sight, and Caleb imagines it must require a great deal of trust to allow it to be seen.

It’s only seven forty-six, and knowing Beauregard and Jester’s sleeping habits, there won’t be much activity around the Lavish Chateau for a while. So Caleb lowers himself back down and carefully tucks a few errant strands of hair behind Essek’s ear, marveling as always at the soft, fine texture and how it puts to shame the way he’d imagined it feeling between his fingers.

Frumpkin, angry at no longer being the center of attention, jumps over Caleb and settles into the narrow space between the two of them, purring contentedly next to his chest. He pets the cat a moment before continuing to stroke Essek’s hair, letting the minutes tick by even as he hears the Chateau’s early risers start going about their day. When was the last time he’d gotten a moment to relax and reflect on just how much better his life was now? Even if he did still have his goals in mind, the path he was taking towards them was a much more pleasant one than any he’d imagined he might walk.

He leans in and lightly kisses Essek’s forehead, as he’d done on their ship what felt like a lifetime ago and had been able to do so many times over these past few months. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I know.”

Caleb’s jaw drops slightly as Essek grins and slowly blinks his eyes open, staring up at him. “I… I thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” he murmurs, scooting as close as he could without squishing Frumpkin, who chirps and nudges his head against Essek’s hand to demand pets, “but it seems someone is very fond of my hair.”

“You’re a bastard _,”_ Caleb groans, face burning even as he rests his chin on top of Essek’s head and pulls one arm tightly around him.

“And yet, you _love_ me anyway,” Essek teases. He goes quiet for a few moments. “And I love you too, for whatever it’s worth,” he says, lifting his arm out from under the covers to finally pet Frumpkin.

“It’s worth quite a lot,” Caleb breathes, fighting back against the voices in his head that insist he protest, that he doesn’t deserve to be loved back, that he’s horrible and ridiculous and selfish for wanting it. He can’t afford to let those dominate his every waking moment anymore. Giving into hating himself could lead to hating the wizard resting beside him, and he couldn’t do that.

“If you insist,” Essek says. He shifts carefully, but Caleb still notices the slight catch to his breathing and the hiss that breaks through his teeth.

“Bad today?” He asks.

“It seems I’m not used to being so still for so long,” Essek mutters. He pulls away for a moment and sits up, carefully stretching. Caleb tries not to wince at the cracking sounds as each joint and vertebra gets pulled into its proper alignment. He’s heard the noise plenty over the weeks, but it still fills him with concern each time.

“Better?”

“Mm hmm,” Essek says, popping his neck and rolling his shoulders one more time before laying back down with a sigh. “Remind me, do we have anything in particular to do today?”

“There’s Jester’s party, but she’ll understand if you’re not feeling up to it. Well, she’ll probably still come up to bring you half a dozen cupcakes and force them down your throat like she did last week.”

“Gods, that was disastrous,” Essek groans, pulling himself closer to Caleb and kissing his neck. “I didn’t know how to tell her I was allergic to cinnamon.”

“Remind me, did she ever find out?”

“No, I had to go to Caduceus before I stopped breathing.”

Caleb laughs loudly and kisses his temple, because that was something he could do now and that was just wonderful. “You’ll have to break it to her before the party, you know? Otherwise she’ll be force-feeding you doughnuts all evening, and Caduceus is bound to be busy with most of the cooking.”

“Couldn’t you tell her?”

“Oh, I would never rob you of the joy that conversation will bring, or myself of the joy that will come from hearing it.”

Essek huffs and turns over onto his back, facing away from Caleb and taking Frumpkin with him, which is just unforgivable. “She’s going to kill me, and you’re going to let her.”

“That’s silly,” Caleb says, leaning down to kiss each freckle on Essek’s shoulder, pulling at the collar of the sleep shirt he’d borrowed. “Beauregard will probably stop her.”

“’Probably’, assuming she doesn’t despise me enough to just unleash her fiancée on me.”

“She wouldn’t do that. I think meeting Mother Dearest after everything with the Martinet finally tipped the scales in your favor, if by a slim margin.” Caleb pulls himself closer and slides his arm around Essek to pet Frumpkin, and is rewarded with a handful of teeth and claws for his efforts.

Essek laughs at Caleb’s sarcastic, less-than-affectionate nickname for the Umavi and lifts his now bitten and scratched hand to kiss it. “Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured, “but I dread the confrontation either way.”

“Well, it’s only eight twenty-three now, and the party isn’t until six o’clock, so we have plenty of time to plan for an escape if need be.”

“Let me think... Uthodurn?”

“You hate the cold.”

“Well, you’re warm enough.”

Caleb smiles at that. “Am I to understand that this is something you’d like to do again, then?”

“I suppose,” Essek sighs in mock defeat and turns back over to face him, sending Frumpkin pattering up over their heads. “There are certainly benefits, and it’s not entirely unpleasant.”

“Not _entirely?”_

“You do snore quite loudly. I’ve never told you because, frankly, it is rather endearing, but it’s different when you’re trying to sleep yourself.”

“Perhaps we will have to modify a Silence spell so your precious ears aren’t bothered,” Caleb teases, succumbing to the urge to start pulling his fingers through Essek’s hair again.

“Yes, we will,” Essek laughs, “but that is the only potential issue that comes to mind.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Caleb says. “I’d certainly be grateful for the opportunity to hold you for eight hours each day.”

“Hm.” Essek slides closer and wraps his arms around Caleb, resting his head against his shoulder. “I would be as well.”

They both doze off for a bit longer after that, but the sharp knocking at their door interrupts them some time later.

“Hey,” Beauregard shouts through the door, “Cad’s making brunch, wake the fuck up!”

“And we need to go get clothes for the party,” Jester’s voice adds, “so, like, wake the fuck up so we can go do that! I also need help taste-testing all the cupcakes too! Because we might end up using some of them at the wedding and I need to get the recipes _exactly_ right!”

“Oh no,” Essek whispers, burying his face in his hands.

“We’ll be down soon,” Caleb yells back, stifling his laughter.

“Good, hurry up!” Beauregard and Jester both retreat, footsteps echoing throughout the Chateau as they went to harass the rest of the Nein.

Caleb waits until they’re gone to speak again. “Shall we face the day, _liebling?”_

Essek sighs and looks up at him fondly. “What else is there to do?”

He can think of ten (no, _eleven)_ things to do instead, but voices none of them—at least, not until it’s nighttime again. For the time being, Caleb is content to finally rise from the bed and go downstairs by Essek’s side, where the rest of the Mighty Nein are waiting to get started on their long-awaited celebration of peace, at least for now.


End file.
